


The Strain: Another Season Episode 8 - Creatures of the Twilight

by RosieBrookMeade



Series: The Strain: Another Season [8]
Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, Mild Voyeurism, Skip It If You Don't Want To Know How That Fic Ends!, Spoiler Warning: Chapter Five Spoils The Ending Of "Eventually Love" In A Major Way, Spoilers For The Many Lives Of Sexta Sertorius and Eventually Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8372944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieBrookMeade/pseuds/RosieBrookMeade
Summary: Warnings: Massive, MASSIVE spoilers for "The Many Lives of Sexta Sertorius" and "Eventually Love" although of course, in those stories I go into much more depth and write from the lady's POV and... less importantly(?)......huge book spoilers for origins of Ancients and Born.----------------Quinlan/Quintus is the fifth half-breed. Who were the others? Were there any after him? What about Vaun? Further fallout from Eldritch Palmer's birthday bash.Also, we finally meet Quintus properly as he tells his student about Ancients, other Born and why she is different to all the others.Warning (again): Chapter Five spoils the ending of Eventually Love





	1. Eichhorst TV (Q)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning (again): Chapter Five spoils the ending of Eventually Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eph’s silvery stock solution, which he is certain can be made into a cure despite Nora’s assertions to the contrary, is now in Eichhorst’s apartment awaiting an angry strigoi with a silver-singed tongue and a score to settle. Because Dutch popped in on her way to rescue Fet and stealthily uploaded a programme onto Eichhorst’s computer, the gang can now access the German’s webcam and see what he does with this tempting opportunity. Sandra is beside herself with excitement – the filthy perv…  
> 

* * *

The fortified city of Caffa (Modern day Feodosia, Crimea) – 1357

Quinlan, wearing the doublet and hose of a wealthy medieval gentleman, sits at a desk, quill in hand. His face is the same as that of the Roman gladiator, Quintus, except for a couple more scars. The room is quite dark but he seems to need no additional light - in contrast to Hostia, who now enters hesitantly, holding a candle. She is wearing a medieval silk dress and the flame trembles in her hand. She appears to be in her mid-teens –younger, certainly, than in de la Reynie's library, the Duke of Hamilton's mausoleum or the auctioneer's office in Marseilles.

Quinlan stands chivalrously and takes the candle from her. When he feels her quivering fingers, he says, 'If you are cold, Sexta, you should put on your mantle.' It's not said sternly, nor as an admonishment - his tone is merely flat and calm. Before she can reply, he takes her hands in his, warming her chillier, more human flesh with his higher body temperature and demonstrating that there is no ill will. Indeed, although his distant demeanour towards Hostia may seem cold and inhuman to Mediterranean or American eyes, it is only the paternal aloofness of a certain class of British men.

‘I am not cold, Quintus,' she says. 'I want to ask you a question and I'm nervous.'

‘There is no need for embarrassment between us, child,' he says.

There's no smile, no warmth but there is a degree of welcome in his manner as he bids her, 'Come and sit,child,' and guides her by the hand to a seat opposite.

'It's a personal matter,' blurts the young Hostia/Sexta.

He withdraws his hand and leans back, his lips compressing almost imperceptibly.

'You don't feed like me, do you?' she pushes on regardless.

He relaxes slightly. 'I drink blood just like you,' he explains, 'but I don't require the direct contact with the donor's skin that you do.'

Hostia relaxes in turn and asks with a child-like candour, 'But then… how do you pierce the flesh?'

He sighs and ponders the distance out of the window for a while.

Hostia waits patiently for her answer. Eventually, Quinlan focusses on her again and says, 'I have this.'

He extends his stinger, slowly so as not to alarm her. It's not as big as a fullblood  _strigoi's_ but it still makes young Hostia's jaw drop. She reaches out and tentatively touches a terminal fang.

'Like the Ancients,' she whispers in awe.

'Not exactly,' explains Quinlan when the stinger has been slurped back inside his mouth. 'I am a half-breed.'

'I thought  _I_ was a half-breed,' argues Hostia. 'Why don't I have one of those?'

Quinlan sighs again but this time it's more indulgent. 'Because you, child, are unique among all the creatures that walk upon this earth.'

'You mean, there are others like  _you_?' she breathes, eyes wide with wonder. 'Tell me about them… Please.'

* * *

Northern Russia – 19 August 1697 BC

The worm-like streaks of silver blood leach out through the blackened, defiled soil. They seek life and they avoid sunlight. Eventually, after an immeasurable time, they experience a fleeting night in the middle of a day. A total solar eclipse. An occultation.

The blood worms seem to sense this unusual darkness and take it as a sign. They redouble their efforts to seek the red blood that flows through the veins of earthly creatures. Suddenly they turn as one, detecting the throbbing life-force of a young woman nearby, aware of a beating heart. No, wait. Two beating hearts. Two hearts in one creature!

The pregnant girl is sleeping in a cave while her mate is fishing. Her time is near and she tires easily. The worms swarm her, invading through every orifice. She wakes screaming, scratching at her face and body but it is too late - the girl is the first Ancient's first host.

The worms multiply and break up to release the virus into her bloodstream. These first forty-eight hours after infection, the period of the actual "turning" process, is the only time when viable virus is present in the blood - the only time a host is viraemic. Only for this brief interval does the blood itself, and certain other bodily fluids, present a risk of contagion. The virus particles are pumped around the girl's body, along with the worms, until they reach the gravid uterus. The worms try, and fail, to cross the placenta but the virus passes successfully to the near-term baby.

When the man returns, the girl's lover is the first  _strigoi_  victim, his blood nourishing the girl and their unborn son.

The first Born.

Primus.

* * *

Fet's place, Red Hook, Brooklyn and a TV view of Eichhorst's Stoneheart Apartment, Manhattan – Present

Sandra is far too close and far too eager as the television displays the view from Eichhorst's living room computer.

The room is empty and Sandra tuts impatiently, but there is soon a knock at the door and Eichhorst passes the viewpoint from behind, to courteously invite a handsome young blond man inside. As the man passes him, Eichhorst clearly takes a sniff and seems slightly disappointed.

Sandra recognises him. 'That's the guy from the dance band. The cheeky one on first trumpet who played the intro to the wrong song when Eichhorst entered. Dammit, I told Eldritch not to give him to Eichhorst.'

Everyone looks at her and Eph pointedly remarks, 'Maybe you should have asked him, rather than tell one of the most powerful men in the world what to do.'

Sandra doesn't catch the sarcasm and only acknowledges the wisdom. 'Oh yes,' she says without rancour. 'I forget how "please" can be a magic word to men like them. I'm so used to being in command myself, these days.'

'The odd please wouldn't go amiss there either, once in a while,' comes a heartfelt rumble from the back, but Sandra is too absorbed in the television drama to notice Reggie.

'Thank you for coming,' Eichhorst says suavely.

The musician is nervous. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean any harm. The truth is – I'm a huge, huge fan and I wanted you to notice me, Mr…?' He fishes for a name.

'You will call me "sir",' says Eichhorst as he turns away, pouring a glass of wine from a decanter.

'Yes, sir,' says the trumpeter, a little too readily.

'Well, there's my mixture,' says Eph, pointing tiredly at the bottle on Eichhorst's desk in the foreground and letting his arm flap down to his side in resignation. 'I'll just have to make some more up. Good job I keep research notes, huh?'

No one else shares in his concerns, they are all riveted to the TV screen. Because Eichhorst has just told the young man to take off his clothes. And he's obeying with alacrity.

Gus and Angel glance at each other with raised eyebrows and a bit of a snigger. Dutch is disgusted and horrified, watching between her fingers, whereas Nora wants to call the cops and stop it. Setrakian points out the futility of that exercise.

'Well, I'm not going to stand by and do nothing,' she says defiantly, 'like some dreadful voyeuse.' She glances at Sandra, who is transfixed.

'Have a seat,' invites Eichhorst. Or is it a command? He pulls a chair forward.

'What's he gonna do to him?' whispers Angel, chewing the popcorn dish in horrified fascination.

'What are you going to do to me?' echoes the musician.

'If I told you that,' Eichhorst says smoothly, 'it would spoil the surprise.'

'I'm gonna be sick!' exclaims Dutch, as they watch Eichhorst gently blindfold his guest/victim with the bow tie he so enthusiastically ripped off.

Eichhorst drops a tiny quantity of Eph's solution into the glass of wine and puts it into his guest's unresisting hand, supporting it as the young man lifts it to his lips.

'Good, yes,' murmurs Eichhorst eagerly. 'Drink it all.'

Once again, the musician obeys like a good submissive.

'He's going to try to inoculate himself,' whispers Nora. 'Against the silver.'

'Against my silver,' corrects Sandra with unseemly satisfaction.

'Would that work?' Fet asks Nora. His own face betraying the horror at seeing what fate might have awaited him, if not for Dutch’s rescue.

She shrugs.

'It'll hurt though, right?' Sandra asks eagerly, without taking her eyes off the screen.

'Well, the test subject didn't like it much,' says Eph from the top of the stairs. He'd started to head back down to the lab but the prospect of seeing his serum self-tested by a mature Chosen seems to intrigue.

'What's he doing now?' cries Fet, appalled as Eichhorst takes position between the young man's thighs.

'He's going to try to taste an orgasm in his blood,' Sandra explains, with absolute certainty. Then, oblivious to all eyes swivelling her way, she adds quietly to herself, 'I wonder if it'll work this way.'

'Oh, no,' groans a grey-faced Gus, turning away. 'I told him once he could suck my dick.'

'¿Él es gay?' Angel whispers.

'He did seem to bring a lot of men down to that basement,' says Reggie's deep, chocolatey voice.

Eichhorst's tux sleeve brushes against the man's knees making him twitch in anticipation.

'Sir? That wine tasted funny,' the musician says nervously.

The vampire doesn't reply or reassure, he only lowers himself slowly to his knees.

Setrakian pushes forward and growls dismissively, 'He's only going to drink from the femoral artery. It's the favoured site for the most powerful  _strigoi_. They are NOT SEXUAL BEINGS.'

Dutch is unconvinced and yelling, 'Bugger this!' she runs downstairs to break the connection.

Sandra screams with frustration when the screen goes blank but everyone else hisses a sigh of relief.

After an uncomfortable pause, Gus asks Sandra, with a hint of admiration, 'How long did you say you survived with him?'

'Several months,' says Sandra as she canters down the stairs to wrestle with Dutch.

Gus follows her. 'How?' he asks suspiciously.

'My blood is to die for and I was always a little less trouble than I was worth,' she says wresting the laptop from her daughter's grip. 'Although I'm proud to say I ran it close sometimes. Now, how do you get this thing back on…?'

* * *

Northern Russia – 1684 BC

Primus is not the name the first Born is known by. He is revered throughout the land as Лысый бог( _Lysyy bog_ ) or Bald god. He has grown rapidly and at the age of thirteen is as muscular and sexually mature as a man twice his age and, yes, the Born are indeed sexual creatures. Although not as tall as Quintus, the fifth Born, will be after him, he is preternaturally fast and strong with similar sculpted good looks.

Like many teenagers throughout history, Primus experiences an intense feeling of separation from the rest of society – a sense of being alone, being different, of not belonging. Unlike all but a handful of others to come, Primus is right. He is a half-breed, belonging neither among humanity nor with the growing population of full-blood  _strigoi_  that his progenitor (or Sire) has created to serve him. Primus is a tortured soul unable to come to terms with his duality and trying all the usual distractions. Unsurprisingly, with his looks and abilities, he has no difficulty finding enthusiastic companions of any gender. He lounges now against furs and colourful drapery in a kind of yurt, surrounded by beautiful worshippers and drinking from a gold vessel. Sex, alcohol, wealth and power deliver no solace and, unlike Quintus, he has yet to find any approximation of the kind of love that brought meaning to the fifth Born's existence.

* * *

 

 

 


	2. Primus, Secunda, Tertia and Quarta (Q)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1357, Quintus tells Hostia Sexta the origin stories of the Ancients and the first four Born.

* * *

Northern Russia - seventeenth century BC

The first Ancient, Primus' Sire, becomes feared throughout the frozen land as Erlik, the principal evil spirit in the Siberian pantheon. Erlik was said to have been human once and even to have helped in the creation of the earth but, when he rebelled against Ulgen, the creator god, he was punished by him and cursed to be forever the god of the Dead. Erlik was believed to control a number of lesser evil spirits who brought him the souls of sinners.

The first Ancient revels in this inverted worship and adopts the name and mantle of Erlik with diabolical pride.

* * *

Eastern Europe - 1506 BC

The second Ancient arises from remains buried in modern day Ukraine in a place that was later named because of the characteristic blight that the buried part inflicts on the land. This Ancient styles himself "Wormwood" - the common name of the scrubby  _Artemisia absinthium_  plants that grow on the dry rocky slopes of the mountains where he first finds sanctuary from the daylight in a cave.

* * *

China - 1302 BC

Another eclipse prompts the blood from the third part of the buried cadaver to seek a host. Its origin site has also turned black from despoilment and becomes known as  _Hēitŭ_ or black earth. This third Ancient is also deified - as Yama, a wrathful god from East Asian mythology believed to have judged the dead.

The second Born, Secunda, is inadvertently created by Yama of China very soon after he arises. Secunda's mother, like Primus', is infected very late in pregnancy and during her turning process she leaves the infant at the bottom of a dry well.

* * *

Peasant village in Bronze Age China

The King's vassals who rule over these farmers are a wealthy middle-aged couple, selected from minor nobility for the task. Their contentment is complete, apart from an aching vacuum caused by childlessness. They are better landlords than most, judging disputes fairly and turning the occasional blind eye when hungry peasants keep more food than their allowance. They have even been known to provide gifts of food, blankets and fuel if a family has a sick child.

Knowing that their overlords are humane, one farmer calls them for help when pitiful cries are heard from an old well. The peasant family are too poor to raise another child but hope that their master will help.

The nobleman organises the rescue and melts when he sees the bald baby girl. She has alabaster skin with almond-shaped Asian eyes as blue as Quinlan's. She is very strong and healthy despite her lengthy abandonment but squirms and bawls lustily in the bright light of day.

The lord wraps her in his cloak, making the screams recede. Then, to everyone's horror, her tiny stinger thrusts out and fastens on to his wrist.

She is only small and, since half-breeds can breathe, she draws from the vein rather than the artery. The panicked farmer applies pressure to the tiny wounds and the flow is swiftly staunched. The overlord's paternal affection is undiminished by this aberrant behaviour. Rather it seems to amplify his nurturing instinct much as breastfeeding a human baby does for a new mother. He pays the farmer handsomely to stay silent and takes the baby girl home.

His wife's reaction is immediate and even stronger than his. The lord and lady pass Secunda off as their child and they give her the name  _Lĭpĭn_ , or Gift.

Secunda's childhood is very much like that of a female Clarke Kent but silver is her kryptonite. From the first, she has a dislike of strong sunlight and a fear of crossing running water although this manifests as an extreme phobia rather than the seizures a pureblood  _strigoi_ experiences. Her adoptive parents raise her to be good and moral and upright. As soon as she is old enough to understand they tell her everything they know about her origins. Unlike Primus, she goes unnoticed by her sire because, desiring only to do good, she is no threat to him. She becomes a kind of minor Supergirl.

* * *

Further eclipses trigger the creation of three more Ancient ones: in Kush (modern day Sudan), in the mountains of Kashmir and then finally (or so they thought) in a part of the Babylonian empire situated somewhere in modern day Iran. These Ancients assume the respective names: Kush, Ravana of India and Babylon.

* * *

For the first few millennia of the Kashmiri ancient's existence, there was no state of Pakistan and Kashmir was only a barren and insignificant portion of the subcontinent that came to be known as India. So, while Kush and Babylon retain the identities of their natal sites, the fifth Ancient becomes associated with the character Ravana from the Hindu epic  _Ramayana_.

The poem's story appeals to him and he relates to the Ravana persona in particular. Portrayed as a powerful  _rakshasa_  (demon king or man-eater), Ravana was known for disturbing the penances of  _rishis_ (saints or sages). Punished severely for thousands of years by the creator god, Brahma, the creature Ravana was finally offered a boon. Denied the immortality he asked for, Ravana begged absolute invulnerability from gods, beasts and other  _rakshasas_. Contemptuous of mortal men, he did not ask for protection from these. He was granted his requests along with great strength.

Yes, unimaginable power and virtual invulnerability - Ravana it shall be.

* * *

 

In 1357, Babylon and Ravana of India are the only Ancients with no Born.

The Master is the only one with two.

* * *

Caffa - 1357

Hostia Sexta is listening with rapt attention but when she hears this nugget she exclaims, 'Is it me, Quintus? Am I the Master's other Born? Am I your sister?'

She seems oddly disturbed by this notion and relieved when Quinlan finally stops examining her face and shakes his head.

'No, child. You are no more my sister than you are my daughter. Most of the Born were created soon after their Sire's naissance, when the Ancient was still inexperienced and careless. Tertia was the same.'

* * *

Northeastern America – sixth century BC

In the middle of the first millennium BC, a total eclipse appears over the Atlantic and tracks Northwest over modern day New England and the Great Lakes.

The final Ancient, the youngest and thirstiest - the Master, takes the form of an Onondaga brave. The third Born, Tertia, is the daughter of an Oneida woman kidnapped as a baby to replace an Onondaga woman slain in battle and raised as one of the Onondaga.

This time the mother's pregnancy is less advanced when the newly risen Master raids the sleeping village for food. The entire tribe, including the expectant mother, follow The Master as his first minions.

When the baby is born, her turned mother raises her as Quintus' mother did. The Master watches Tertia and studies her – wondering if she can be a host/vessel for crossing the water back to the other Ancients. He realises she can't be controlled and that his control over her mother is weak – like Quintus' mother - but his arrogance doesn't allow him to register this as a potential threat.

The Master tests Tertia with streams. She hates it as much as Secunda, so she resists. He pushes and pushes, desperate to reunite with the other Ancients, until Tertia freaks out and attacks him. He has to kill her.

* * *

Caffa – 1357

'But how do you know all this?' Hostia Sexta asks into another pause. 'Especially, Tertia's story. It happened so far away - no one alive could have told the tale.'

Quinlan gives her a tiny smile and, stepping back, he gestures at the work on his desk introducing it simply as, ' _Filii de opacare_ , The Sons of Twilight.' She goes to examine it, glancing up at Quinlan as she passes in front of him.

Fragments of papyrus have been pieced together and he is transcribing the text into a leather-bound book. She looks back at him, puzzled and slightly disappointed. 'It's all in Latin, Quintus. Why have you never taught me that?'

'It is the language of religious cant and intransigence, Sexta. You do not need it.'

'It's the language of scholars and the learned,' she argues. Then in a more conciliatory tone she adds, 'It's your language. I would like to know it.'

Quinlan looks at her for a moment and then changes the subject, saying, 'Don't you want to hear about Quarta?'

* * *

Meroë, Nubia (modern day Sudan) – 310 BC

The Ancient known as Kush is already nearly a thousand years old when Quarta is Born.

The kingdom of Kush is now known as Nubia and the capital city, Meroë, lies at the confluence of two rivers with desert stretching away for many leagues in all other directions.

One night, deep in the shadows beneath the city walls, a prostitute touts for business whilst trying to avoid the attention of patrolling guards. One of Kush's spawn skitters out of the desert and over the wall. Fortunately, the girl hears the hungry nickering of the  _strigoi_  and turns in time to dodge its attack. This  _strigoi_  is immature and desperate enough that the girl can evade it and sprint out of her alley, screaming for help.

A gallant stranger comes to her aid, engaging the monster in combat and eventually slicing the top of its head off. Unfortunately, the  _strigoi_  managed to nick the hero before its demise and the man is already infected when the rescued damsel shows her gratitude up against a wall and in a variety of other locales. Finally, the rescuer's infection is so far advanced that, just like Gabriel Bolivar, he is no longer able to maintain an erection. Unlike Bolivar with his groupies, he has not yet reached the stage of experimenting with blood-drinking. He wanders off - one lust sated and another yet to take hold. He leaves his virus-laden seed within the prostitute totally unaware of what has been conceived.

The virus present in the semen combines with the newly-formed zygote's DNA from the very moment of fertilisation and something entirely new is created.

Primus is a troubled, dissipated young man; Secunda is a heroic champion; Tertia is dead. But Quarta will be the root of many problems - for all the Ancients, not just for her Sire, Kush.

 

* * *

 


	3. Mrs Q (Q)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1357, Quintus continues the tale of Quarta, the fourth Born. When the young Hostia Sexta presses him, he also tells his own story. For reasons of his own, he excludes details of his Roman family, preferring instead to dwell on the memories in the privacy of his own head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t gone into any detail about Quinlan's origin story apart from his marriage. This is because I expect that the TV show version will be spectacular and I will only feel like a fraud.  
> Slight Book AU:  
> a. Quintus' wife is pregnant when she's given to him rather than having a small daughter.  
> b. It is Faustus Sertorius who gives her to Quintus - therefore much earlier than in the book.

* * *

Meroë, Nubia (modern day Sudan) – 310 BC

Quarta, or Lady Quartz as she eventually styles herself, is the daughter of grateful prostitute and her newly infected rescuer.

Her human mother turns before she realises that she's pregnant and pays no notice to her swelling belly. She disregards the pain of labour and gives birth to Quarta several months early in the darkness of a rock fissure. Abandoned by her disinterested  _strigoi_ mother, Quarta "caves" rather than dies.

Too stinky too eat and too still to be a threat, the shrivelled, helpless babe is sniffed and ignored when a troop of baboons colonises Quarta's den. The troop brings occasional kills back to the hole and spilt blood trickling into her corner sustains the wretched creature. She improves drop by drop until eventually she grows strong enough to take a crippled old female baboon left behind to die while the rest of the troop forage, hunt, and play in the sunshine. Simian blood is better fare than an irregular supply of warthog piglet and desert rodent and it invigorates her to take another monkey, then another, growing rapidly until even the forty kilos of tooth and muscle of the alpha male cannot withstand her speed and power. Quarta then seeks the ultimate nourishment - human blood.

* * *

Northern Russia – First and second millennia BC

Over the course of many centuries, Primus, Erlik of Siberia's Born, discovers that he is infertile. No matter how many or how nubile his concubines, no matter how hard he uses them, or how often, no womb bears fruit. This, combined with the fact that his lack of bloodworms render him unable to procreate in the usual  _strigoi_  way, adds to his burden and stigma, gradually engendering within him a toxic rage against his maker.

* * *

Meroë, Nubia (modern day Sudan) – 305 BC

Quarta is beautiful. Indeed, there is something about the  _strigoi_  blood that predisposes to an unearthly, almost angelic beauty in all the Born. She is an impressively tall, bald African woman with a nose, black eyes and skin the colour of a latte. She is something new – wormless so technically a Born. Her appearance is halfway between the Quinlan-Born and full  _strigoi_  – very much like Vaun but for different reasons. She is harmed by the harsh African sunlight and silver and has the same water-crossing restrictions as the  _strigoi_  and Vaun.

The native tribes within the radius of a night's  _strigoi_  hunt are so terrorised by her voracious blood appetite that they unite to worship her as a Goddess, bringing her regular tributes of the best of their young manhood as food. Quarta revels in this adulation much as the Ancients Erlik and Yama do and craves more adoration, more power – more celebrity.

* * *

Caffa – 1357

'And you, Quintus?' Hostia Sexta looks a little awkward now and absently excavates the grain of the desktop with her thumbnail. 'You've never told me your story…'

He stares at her for long enough to make her squirm in discomfort. Then he sighs and tells her.

He tells her of the Master in the body of Thrax, associate of the depraved emperor Caligula; the weekly tributes of virgin slave girls; the ritual feeding on the pedestal; the early pregnancy detected in one girl after Thrax had begun to feed; Caligula's paranoia requiring Thrax's presence and the guards' incompetence in allowing the infected girl to escape. He recounts his birth in a cave as his turning mother heads south for her Loved Ones; his life as a god amongst men; his career as a warrior and gladiator; even his meeting with Lady Quartz in the Ludus Magnus in Rome and their doomed partnership as a gladiatorial team. Quintus omits nothing. Nothing that is, except for any mention of his wife and adopted daughter.

* * *

An Ancient Roman slave market

All the slaves are naked, the better to show prospective buyers exactly what they're getting so the slaver can hardly sell the pregnant Berber girl as a virgin. She isn't particularly beautiful anyway, a bit small with unremarkable features. The consummate salesman, he nevertheless uses the pregnancy as a kind of BOGOF selling point.

'As well as being able to sing and play, cook and sew - not to mention a very willing fuck, if I'm any judge,' says the slave trader, oblivious to Quintus' head snapping round to fix him with a look of complete revulsion. 'And I think I am…' He nudges the big Born where his waist should be and hurts his elbow on a very hard hipbone. 'You wait a few months and you've got yourself your very own family. Eh? Sir? Whaddaya say? That could be very attractive to a…a…' The greasy little homunculus casts about for an appropriate description before plumping for convention, '…a man like yourself?

Quintus uses the prolonged stare that always makes Hostia Sexta writhe in embarrassment before silently dropping the full asking price and more into the sweaty palm.

'Oh, thank you sir, most gracious,' oils the slaver. 'A true Patrician.' He continues babbling obsequiously while he passes the girl's neck chain over. Quintus demands the collar be removed and, just before leaving with his purchase, he grasps the merchant by the elbow and bends down to whisper in his ear.

'The extra coin is for a bath and a wholesome supper. See that you get both tonight.'

Quintus hands the girl his  _pallium_ but doesn't presume to drape it around her possessively. To the slaver's shock the big man then crouches down to address the slave.

'What's your name?' he asks gently.

'Tasa, master,' she whispers, eyes wide at her new owner's size as much as his bizarre appearance.

The Born winces at the honorific. 'Mine is Quintus,' he says calmly. 'I desire no other address. You are a free woman now, Tasa.'

The merchant hisses at the extravagance.

'I am heavy with child and I have nowhere else to go, sir…I mean Quintus,' she corrects hurriedly. 'May I come with you?'

* * *

The following morning, Faustus Sertorius comes roaring in without knocking. He is furious that the slave dealer was found chained in his own slave pit, clean but exsanguinated, and that all the captives had been freed.

'I gave you the money for a wife not a housecat, Quintus,' he bellows. 'Now marry her and claim her as your own in the natural  _human_  way.'

Tasa gazes up in awe and nascent adoration at the gladiator. She goes to stand beside him and slips her tiny hand into his huge fist as if she wishes to defend him in some way or at least stand in solidarity with him.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that I posted on FFN. You now know as much as the readers over there do – more actually, because of a few tweaks and the extra Born scenes. I also didn’t name the chapters over there. See, lucky you! ;-)


	4. Born? (Q)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexta’s origin story.  
> WARNING: Spoilers for "Many Lives of Sexta Sertorius" and "Eventually Love".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have come back to Another Season from the romances because I missed Vaun, Fet and (God help me) even Eph!  
> (Although this chapter is wall-to-wall Quinlan.)  
> WARNING: Spoilers for "Many Lives of Sexta Sertorius" and "Eventually Love".

* * *

Quintus Sertorius’ house in Ancient Rome – the morning after the purchase of Tasa, the Berber widow

Hearing of the grisly fate of her erstwhile captor from Quintus’ sponsor, Faustus Sertorius, and assuming correctly that the gladiator was the culprit, Tasa gazes up in awe and nascent adoration at him.

She is either too shy or too used to subjugation to dare a glance up at the raging senator, who is now insisting that Quintus use her as a man uses his wife. Instead, she goes to stand beside her new…husband and slips her tiny hand into his huge fist as if she wishes to defend him in some way or at least stand in solidarity with him.

Quintus snatches his hand away from the girl’s and steps to the side without looking at her.

Tasa hangs her head in evident dejection and Quintus stands as silent and immobile as if he were truly carved out of marble, while Faustus continues to snarl and snap like a hunted wolf at bay. He is obviously scared of Quintus and over-compensating with aggression.

Eventually there’s a pause for breath and Quintus takes a pace forward, making his adoptive father swallow hard and step back.

‘You may marry us if you wish it,’ Quintus says with finality. ‘But I will not touch the girl until her child is born.’

Faustus stares for a moment, puzzled, and then bursts out laughing.

When he stops, he nods and smirks. ‘You’re worried you’ll create another Born,’ he scoffs. ‘Don’t be an idiot, Quintus, you can’t create anything. Not a son, not another strix, not even a half-breed, NOTHING! You’re a sterile hybrid – like a …like a mule.’

There’s more laughing from Faustus but Quintus’ bunched fists are the only outward signs of any internal struggle not to kill the senator.

* * *

Caffa – 1357

Quintus has been staring absently at the wall panelling for some time after finishing the censored tale of his own origins. At last, Hostia Sexta places a sympathetic hand on his, in an attempt to recall her guardian’s focus to the present.

Quintus physically leaps out of his reverie as her touch jerks him back to Caffa.

‘Oh Quintus,’ says Sexta, as if she understands his previous reticence. ‘I’m so sorry. That’s why you hate the Master so much - he killed your mother…’

‘My mother…?’ murmurs Quintus. ‘Yes…’

He pauses for further contemplation.

Eventually his head turns her way again. ‘Sexta there is something I must tell you…’

* * *

Eurasian Steppe Belt c1342

The Golden Horde, led by Jani Beg, descendant of the legendary warlord Genghis Khan, loom out of the dust and thunder of their horses’ hooves on the eastern horizon. The horsemen number in their tens of thousands yet their number has diminished dramatically since they left the Steppes of Mongolia’s borders with China. The Horde have been picked off by a plague – not the strain ravaging New York City in the present but THE plague, the Black Death, bubonic plague caused by the bacterium, _Yersinia pestis_. They infect each other and the communities they pillage along the way, spreading the disease westward along the Silk Road.

As they near the borders of the modern day Ukraine, another disease seizes the opportunity to hide itself amongst the plague-ridden horde. The Master’s Strain takes hold.

The Horde travel by day and the prevalence of the Strain fluctuates according to the sunlight exposure. Timing is everything. Those “turning” in the night survive and flee, hiding in caves before sun-up (but not before infecting their comrades). Others are less lucky. Unable to seek shelter because of the Horde’s code of honour and their bonds of loyalty to Jani Beg, they shrivel and die in the sun. A few are even shot as deserters when a new Lord takes over their will and demands fealty.

When the depleted, doubly infected Horde reach Crimea, they lay siege to Caffa. The city is heavily fortified within two concentric walls and “protected” by six mysterious ancient beings holding secret court in a cave system beneath the citadel. These vampiric creatures send their Hunters to wage an unseen war against the Master’s minions. Outside the city walls, the Hunters are under the direct control of their respective Sires. Inside the citadel, the defence is led by the big half-breed known as Quintus, apparently motivated by a desire to protect the human citizenry as much as to serve the Ancient Ones.

Jani Beg faces this unforeseen resistance in addition to recurring outbreaks of bubonic plague and losses due to vampire attacks. In the winter of 1346-47, the Khan (or one of his advisors) has a brainwave. He orders dead bodies to be loaded into the trebuchets in the first documented instance of biological warfare. Most of the cadavers are infected with _Y. pestis,_ others carry the Master’s virus as well and a few are super-infected with the other Ancients’ strains.

* * *

Caffa -1347

Tonight, the captain of the militia leads a mop-up crew following General Quintus around the internal perimeter of the city walls. These are not Sun Hunters, in on the secret, but their disfigured general has warned them not to touch any corpses and to prevent contamination by burning all bodies on sight.

However, the captain is a devout Christian and feels sickened by the heathens’ latest tactic. His squad watch as another Mongol cadaver catapults over the walls and crashes through a roof to lie slumped and broken across a church altar. The captain has had enough. He rushes into the building and, ignoring his men’s warning yells, he drags the body out into the street and urinates over it in disgust.  

The men are horrified and won’t touch him. One silently sets the Mongol corpse alight with his torch and the clean-up patrol continues, very much subdued.

The squad see nothing of General Quintus for the rest of the watch. Meanwhile, their captain gets sicker and sicker as the night progresses and increasingly irascible with it. Eventually, his lieutenant advises him to return home while the men finish their beat. The captain is too ill to resist this logic and he staggers home, pale and sweaty with bloodshot eyes and a sore throat. The lieutenant’s first order is to find General Quintus, ‘NOW!!!’

* * *

The guard captain staggers into his house, slams the door and bellows for a drink. His wife hurries to him, shushing and warning him not to wake the baby. Feeling feverish and irritable, he is in no mood for nagging and, as his wife is exhausted from caring for their newborn daughter, they argue. The argument intensifies and becomes a physical fight. Faces are scratched, shoulders are shaken and blood is exchanged. He is weak from disease, she is tired and they _do_ love each other, so the fight burns out and they make up.

They take the wordless peace talks to bed but, because of either their fatigue or the direct effects of the Strain on pelvic vasculature, carnal reconciliation is limited to kissing and falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Sadly, naptime is soon over because the baby wakes up hungry. The young mother struggles up, herself now pale and sick because of Wormwood of Ukraine’s virus pumping through her body, and lurches over to the cradle. She picks the wailing child up and instinctively places her on her breast to comfort her.

Baby Sophia (the names of Hostia and Sexta have yet to be assigned) sucks ravenously, taking in great mouthfuls of breast milk. Milk that, like the placental blood in the cases of Primus, Secunda, Tertia and Quintus and the semen of Quarta’s father, contains strix virus but no worms.

But Sophia is not a foetus like the half breeds. Nor is she an embryo that grows from strix DNA (combined with that from two human parents) like the three-quarter bred Quarta.

She is human, infected in the very first days of life with virus but not worm.

She is not Born at all.


	5. Never Again (Q)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexta's origin story concludes, with Quintus reminiscing about another birth.
> 
> SPOILER WARNING: THIS CHAPTER SPOILS THE ENDING OF "EVENTUALLY LOVE" IN A MAJOR WAY.  
> SKIP IT IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW HOW THAT FIC ENDS!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER WARNING: THIS CHAPTER SPOILS THE ENDING OF "EVENTUALLY LOVE" IN A MAJOR WAY.  
> SKIP IT IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW HOW THAT FIC ENDS!
> 
> This is another Quinlan-only chapter but the others will show up soon.

* * *

Guard Captain’s home, Caffa -1347 

The front door falls in with a crash and General Quintus stands there outlined by moonlight for a dramatic moment. He takes another moment to glance around assessing the situation before he explodes into fluid action.

Three seconds of balletic violence later and the two adults lie decapitated in pools of blood and worms and baby Sophia/Sexta lies in one of Quintus’ huge hands, the blade of his _gladius_ pointing at her throat.

Move XXXVII followed move L to dispatch Quintus’ old comrade in arms, the captain of the guard. Move XXVI and the first part of XI disposed of his good lady and then the complex acrobatics of move XIV positioned the Born in a half crouch to catch the dropped infant.

However, the gladiator who challenged the gods seems to be taking an inordinately long time to kill a helpless newborn.

* * *

Caffa – 1357

Quintus watches Sexta to see how she takes the news. She is scowling and not meeting his eyes. Unconsciously, he holds his breath, as if her response is of life-and-death importance to him.

* * *

Quintus’ home - Ancient Rome 

The agonised screams of pre-epidural childbirth come from behind a closed door, while Quintus paces in the approved father-to-be style.

A middle-aged North African woman bustles out from the delivery room to heat more olive oil for the hot compresses and tries to push past Quintus. He grabs her arm and asks with anguished eyes, ‘How much longer?’

The midwife looks up as if noticing him for the first time but his unnatural appearance leaves her completely unfazed.

‘The child will choose his own time, my lord.’ Her voice is heavily accented but not unkind. ‘But I think not much longer, my lady is already on the birthing stool.’

‘Already?’ repeats Quintus. ‘You call it “already”, yet she has been suffering since sunrise.’ His grip on her arm tightens. ‘Can you do nothing to ease her misery?’

The woman looks down pointedly and then up into his eyes. Seeing his distress, her attitude softens, but only slightly.

‘That is what the compresses are for,’ she says coldly. ‘Do not be concerned overmuch; your wife is young, and stronger than she looks.’

‘But there is so much blood…’ he says, staring at the closed door.

‘How do you kn…’ she begins, and then his expression forces her to change direction. ‘Go outside, my lord,’ she advises gently, ‘if you cannot bear the sm… the suspense.’

She returns to her charge as another scream summons her.

Then she is back again at the door, still looking surprised at what she saw on the birthing stool. ‘Change of plan, my lord,’ she says hurriedly. ‘Wait here.’

A matter of minutes rather than hours later, Quintus is ushered in to the room.

The baby, wrapped only in a loose cloth, is sucking at Tasa’s breast.

Quintus stares, immobile and speechless, making his wife blush and smile shyly.

She gestures to the midwife who takes the now sleeping child and places it proudly in Quintus’ arms. It has been considerately wiped clean of blood but the big man looks at it helplessly until a single sob wracks his body, making the baby’s covering cloth fall open.

A pale, bald scrap with no penis lies in his arms. It has just finished sucking his wife. He flings it at the midwife and roars his horror and remorse at the ceiling.

The baby’s piteous wailing almost drowns him out. Both women are furious.

‘What do you think you’re doing,’ says Tasa snatching back the infant and soothing it.

‘It’s white and bald and it sucks you and it has no …..’ sputters Quintus gesturing at his own sub-belt regions. ‘…just a slit. This is a strix.’

He’s frantic and perplexed. ‘How has this happened? I‘ve hardly touched you since you came into my house.’

The midwife looks from one to another before hazarding a guess at the problem.

‘You have a daughter, sir,’ she points out. ‘A baby girl. Perfectly healthy and if I might make so bold, more beautiful than either of you.’

‘The child is human…?’ Quintus murmurs as if, in his relief, he dare not believe.

‘Yes, _she_ is,’ says the midwife.

Tasa just gazes at the tiny sleeping face, completely blissed out.

Quintus advances to her bedside and kneels down beside her. They look at each other in silence for a while before she voluntarily hands the baby back to him.

The midwife should have retreated unseen but this is the most unusual birth she’s ever attended – the most unusual family.

‘Have you decided on a name?’ she asks quietly.

Quintus looks at Tasa, who smiles and says, ‘Her name is Tidir.’

When the midwife bursts out laughing, he looks a question at Tasa who explains sheepishly, ‘It means “alive”.’

‘You could use my name?’ the older woman suggests.

‘What is it?’ Tasa seems a bit guilty that she doesn’t know it already.

‘Sura.’

‘What does that name mean?’ asks Quintus suspiciously.

‘“Pretty name that won’t forever remind my father of his stupidity on the day of my birth”,’ the midwife says sharply.

‘It means “travels by night”,’ Tasa explains.

‘She likes it,’ says Quintus, looking down at her. ‘Look she’s smiling. She’s smiling at me!’

‘It’s probably only wind,’ says the midwife. 

* * *

Guard Captain’s home, Caffa -1347 

Quintus and the baby stare into each other’s eyes for several seconds before he murmurs, ‘No. Never again,’ replaces her in her cradle, and leaves.

* * *

Caffa – 1357

It takes far too long but eventually Sexta looks at Quintus again and says, ’So…I’m not really Born at all?’

‘Sexta, I killed your parents,’ Quintus says, slightly exasperated. ‘Have you nothing to say about that?’

‘I am sorry you had to release your friends, Quintus,’ she says. ‘But I’m glad it was you and that it was quick. But you must see that you have been my entire world for as long as I can remember. You, Quintus, not the woman who bore me or the man who sired me… oh, and Bernarda and the Piambos, I suppose.’

She thinks for a moment, while Quintus stares again, unable to understand her attitude and probably feeling a little bit let off the hook.

‘So if you are a half-breed and I am more human, does that mean I’m a quarter-breed?’ she asks next.

He shrugs. ‘I suppose that would be a reasonably accurate supposition. It is not only your external appearance that is intermediate between that of an ordinary human and mine. Your growth rate, for example, has been approximately half of mine. You are only ten years old yet seem to be a fifteen-year-old human, but when I was your age, I was fully matured.’

She mulls this over for a moment and then follows a different tack. ‘Would other quarterbreeds be created if the blood - but not the worms - of a turning human were to corrupt another person?’

‘I do not know Sexta, but _Filii de Opacare_ suggests that you are the only one of your kind - the only quarterbreed, as you put it - that has ever been or will ever be. And to my knowledge, the circumstances of your origin have never occurred previously. Usually the worms would also reach the victim. It was only my swift attendance that prevented them doing so in your case.’

* * *

Guard Captain’s home, Caffa -1347 

The baby is silent for only a second after Quintus sets her down and leaves. Then she starts to cry as if intending to keep it up until she dies.

However, she only has to sustain the howling for a couple of minutes before Quintus returns, frowning.

‘Very well,’ he says, picking her up.

The crying stops immediately he touches her.

‘What _are_ you?’ he whispers. She looks completely human at the moment, but then it has only been minutes since she fed on virus-infected milk.

She wiggles a tiny fist and smiles disarmingly. Quintus almost cracks one in return before he mutters, ‘It is probably only wind.’

‘Whatever kind of thing you are… you will never be my daughter,’ he warns her. ‘Do you understand?’

The baby blows a bubble.

It _was_ only wind.

* * *

SPOILER SCENE: The garden of Quintus’ family home, Southern Italy – thirteen years after Sura’s birth

 

Tasa, already turned enough to have a stinger, lies slain at Quintus’ feet. Quintus, his face displaying absolute hatred for his Sire, watches the Master warily.

The Master, in the body of the legionnaire Tacitus, stands laughing on the roof of Quintus’ house, the Born’s adopted daughter Sura screaming and squirming in his grip. There’s no evidence of stinger marks on her throat or any blood on her thighs but any hope for her is slight and dwindling.

‘Papa,’ Sura desperately cries out for help. ‘Papa!’

Holding Quintus’ glare, the Master slits his thumb with a finger claw, holds Sura’s jaw open with the other hand and teases a single bloodworm from his hand into her terrified mouth. He holds her mouth shut and taunts Quintus.

‘Now, she will be _my_ daughter. For all eternity…’

Without pausing for any maniacal laughter, the Master tenderly picks Sura up as if he were rescuing a damsel in distress and flits away in a blur.

* * *

Caffa -1357

A happier Quintus, in a more peaceful time, continues his tale.

‘There I was,’ says Quintus, ‘with either a baby or a strix in my hands and no aid or facility to cope with either eventuality…’

‘What on earth did you do with me?’ Sexta interrupts. ‘How did you find out what I was?’

‘Initially, I waited,’ he says. ‘Or to put it more accurately, I did nothing because I could think of nothing to do. I brought you here and watched you for several hours – until the sun rose and Bernarda came to clean for me as she usually did. As she still does.

‘Bernarda came to me as the widow of a Sun Hunter and because a bachelor of independent means needs a woman of matronly respectability to keep his house and chaperone any lady visitors. As a rule, Sun Hunters do not live long enough to marry but Bernarda’s husband came to the struggle later in life. She was therefore already aware of my special requirements.’

‘She told me all this several years ago…’

‘Did she indeed?’ he muses. ‘Well, she came in that morning and found me staring in perplexity at a screaming infant and assumed command. She engaged a wet nurse because you drank milk for the first three days of your life. We believed you might resist the transformation because your eyes were also still human...’

‘What colour were they?’

‘What?’ Quintus’ head jerks up. ‘What an odd question... They were the dark blue of all the newly born, but I am certain that they would have become dark brown like those of your birth parents in time. You had hair also, at first. Similarly brown…’

His thoughts wander off again.

Sexta continues the story as far as she knows it. ‘…But then I bit the wet nurse and she refused to attend me again.’

‘Yes…’ says Quintus, his mind back with her again. ‘That is when I brought you before the Ancients…’

* * *

Catacombs Beneath Caffa – 1347 

The Ancients’ home at this time is not a grotty concrete room with blood on the floor. It is much grander, almost palatial …if palaces had dark, quiet audience halls with sarcophagi lining the walls. The six coffins are of various different sizes and designs but they are all made of white oak and all filled with earth.

The Ancients themselves are all, save the Master, currently living harmoniously together. And they are not enthroned on metal frames, naked and immobile, as in New York, but walking about wearing robes like their youngest sibling.

‘My Lords,’ announces Quintus, as he enters with a sleeping baby in his arms. ‘I beg your counsel on a sensitive subject.’

Only his words are deferential. He strides in confident and unaccompanied.

One Ancient, whose current host is still outwardly female, approaches and studies baby Sophia/Sexta.

 _I have felt it,_ she/it begins telepathically until she realises that Quintus, not being of her Strain, can’t hear her thoughts.

‘I have felt this creature, these last nights… My Born…’ she adjusts to speaking aloud. ‘Why have you not offered it to me before this time?’

‘She _is_ Born, then?’ Quintus asks quickly, before adding, ‘My Lord Wormwood.’

‘Do you know of her creation?’ says Wormwood.

‘Do _you_?’ he rejoins, making her/it hiss in displeasure.

‘Certainly, I do. It is of my blood, yet not of my worm. “Born” is the most apposite term in this tongue.’

There appears to be some telepathic discussion going on between the other Ancients but it is not intelligible.

Wormwood takes the baby from Quintus after a brief, glare-filled struggle and examines her thoroughly. It removes the blanket, dress and nappy (diaper) and turns Sexta upside down, which naturally wakes her up. The child’s instant reaction is to wail but as Wormwood’s hot face sniffs and licks her, she starts to giggle.

Quintus is not as relaxed as the baby during this inspection and Wormwood notices.  

The discussion between the other Ancients, meanwhile, has escalated into an angry dispute, with two apparently siding with Wormwood and Quintus and an opposing three arguing aloud for the baby Born’s swift termination.

‘Remember Quarta?’ shouts one who is probably Quarta’s sire, Kush, since he is clearly anxious… frightened even. ‘And Primus?’ he adds to Erlik of Siberia, as if trying to gain his support.

Erlik, despite being the most senior by nearly two centuries, does not seem to hold a special status amongst the six. He is, however, the calmest, saying, ‘The child is nearly human. ‘Think of the possibilities.’

‘No more Born…!’ yell the others.

‘Are you blind to the opportunity…?’ repeats Erlik before slipping into telepathy (perhaps for secrecy from Quintus) … _the chance to produce a new weapon to fight for us?_

‘Against Quarta?’ asks Kush aloud, hope beginning to dawn.

‘Yes, and against the Young One’

‘But they cannot be controlled,’ protests another.

‘The Sixth Born is MINE!’ interjects Wormwood. ‘The risk is MINE! And I choose to take it.’

This truth is acknowledged by all the others, albeit reluctantly, and the argument is over.

Wormwood issues instructions for Quintus to find someone to raise the child, to train her as a Hunter when she is old enough and to bring her back for examination every thirteen moons.

Quintus doesn’t seem to notice that he is being ordered around. In fact, he seems quite satisfied with the outcome.

* * *

Caffa – 1357

‘Bernarda was delighted to be able to keep you,’ Quintus tells Sexta, ‘and your upbringing was entirely her province until you were strong enough to learn the first unarmed manoeuvres. Nonetheless, I still had to find a way to feed you, to bring you fresh blood in a plague-ridden walled city under siege. The hunting was meagre enough for me that winter, so I…’

He is suddenly interrupted by a handsome young man in his late teens bursting through the door.

‘I know what’s going on…’ pants Gerolamo Piambo. 

* * *

 


	6. Blackout (Q)

* * *

Caffa – 1357

Quintus’ reminiscences over Sexta’s early life are interrupted by a handsome young man in his late teens bursting through the door.

‘I know what’s going on…’ pants Gerolamo Piambo.

‘Gero,’ exclaims Hostia Sexta, surprised but also evidently pleased by his sudden appearance.

‘What is it that you believe you know, Gerolamo?’ It shouldn’t be possible to pronounce the boy’s name to rhyme with “libidinous interloper who I am only not killing out of deference to Sexta’s feelings”, but somehow Quintus manages it.

‘I know what’s happening here, Dr Sertorius.’ Gero says. ‘And I want to be a part of it.’

He continues, nervous but resolute. ‘I know that when I come in to be treated... That is, when _all_ your patients consult with you and you prescribe bleeding… I know that it is Sexta biting us…’

Quintus and Sexta both gasp.

‘…and I want to let her.’ He finishes with a sigh, as if he’s been practising the monologue and wouldn’t take a breath until he’d reached the end of the script.

Sexta moves to his side, which only makes Quintus’ demeanour towards him even colder.

‘All my patients leave here in good health and my bleeding methods are the most benign in the city,’ he says tightly.

‘Oh yes,’ agrees Gerolamo eagerly, ‘everyone says so. But I know that it is Sexta. I’ve been coming twice a month since I was eight, sir. I know that it’s her teeth that mark me and I know that it’s your blood, Dr Sertorius, that is the potent elixir you give us a drop of, at the end of the cure. I believe that it is that, rather than the bleed itself, that gives us the feeling of wellbeing and has rendered your patients resistant to the Black Death and other agues.

‘And, sir, I want to volunteer. I don’t want the blindfold any longer.’

There are more gasps.

‘And I don’t need your blood, sir. I’ve been well for a year – I know it’s your daughter, doctor, please don’t try to convince me otherwise. I’m not stupid. I just want to help her. There’s no need to pretend with me anymore. I haven’t told anyone else, sir, not even Claudia and I won’t. I’d never put Sexta in danger. I want to help.’

By the time he finishes this, more spontaneous, speech, Sexta is standing in front of him and holding his hand in grateful adoration.

Quintus growls softly.

* * *

 The Master’s New Lair - Present

The hideously sun-burnt Master oozes along a corridor alone and, almost surreptitiously, enters an unmarked door.

Inside, his coffin lies on a dais. It has been remade after Setrakian’s violent smashing of it, the shards now classily encased in solid gold. The giant Sardu-Master climbs into the soil with a weary sigh and glances into a dark corner.

A slender _strigoi_ trips lightly out of the shadows and goes to him.

The girl (because the build cannot be that of a man) caresses his wounds solicitously. ‘Papa, why have you not transmuted yet. You are too badly damaged to continue in this body. Why do you not take Thomas’ form? Or mine?’

_You would willingly lay down all that is truly you for my sake, Sura._

It isn’t a question.

She smiles and kisses a ravaged cheek.

Sura, Quintus Sertorius’ adopted Berber daughter, is physically very similar to an Ancient now, but clothed as the Master. She has no nose, no hair and very pointed ears and any sign of her gender or what had been impending womanhood has been erased by the viral transformation. She and the Master converse in a curious amalgam of Ancient Berber, Greek and Latin mixed with modern Polish, German and English. He, of course, communicates telepathically but she speaks aloud.

_My Secret Child. You love me sincerely... You and you only. Your patience and devotion shall be rewarded._

She purrs.

_Do you recall my mentioning some new targets?_

She nods.

_The boy’s mother is closing in on her Loved Ones as we speak. My Chosen Daughter, soon you will have a friend your own age, a companion, a playfellow._

She seems to be pleased by that announcement.

_And I will wait until my next host has matured sufficiently to survive the subsumption._

‘And the boy’s father?’ she asks. ‘Is he food or a strategic acquisition?’

The Master shakes his head. _Entertainment!_

* * *

 

Water Street, Brooklyn, New York

The Force stroll around the cobbled streets of DUMBO led by Captain Lena Bartoli. Most of the men are trying to distract themselves from the danger by either engaging in inane banter or discussing the Big Fight they’ve just watched on television.

Unfortunately for the entertainment-starved cops of NYC, the latter option means the debacle at the end of the FinchTV Broadcast of Eldritch Palmer’s birthday ball.

‘Looks like that Goodweather guy is off the “Most Wanted” list…’

‘Yeah, cos he’s obviously pals with a billionaire, Don. D’ya think if that was one of us, we’d get off so easy?’ Goes one exchange.

‘Damn, but that hot ffinch-Myles bitch likes her men old and creepy,’ is another popular line of conversation.

‘D’ya think that means the sarge has a chance?’

‘Well…He’s ugly enough but I reckon a bit too young for her.’

‘Yeah, plus Sarge doesn’t have that whole “Well Dressed Man” hero vibe going on.’

‘Suck on my fat one, both of you.’

Lena has been silently ignoring the raillery, leading, as it is usually best to do, from the front and checking every alley opening and darkened doorway for threats living and dead. 

‘That “Well Dressed Man” is what the old pawnbroker in Red Hook would call a _strigoi_ ,’ she says definitely.

‘Shut the fuck up!’ exclaims someone who forgot who he was talking to.

Lena glances round at him and he follows his own advice.

‘But he looks like a man, Captain,’ says Stephen Collins. ‘Like a real person.’

‘C’mon Steve,’ says another, ‘anyone who’s worked nights has seen those extreme makeovers on daytime TV. Spray tan, contacts, wigs… and plastic surgeons can do fucking anything now.’

‘Yeah, they could prob’ly make Benny a real dick.’

‘He already is a real dick.’

‘Hah de fucking hah, boys,’ retorts Benny. ‘Your mommas never complained.’

Nobody’s really putting their backs (or brains) into it, perhaps because of anxiety about their families and city.

Collins’ phone rings and he stops to answer it, dropping back from Lena’s heels and being overtaken by the rest of the Force. He gets more and more concerned by the call until he pushes his way back to the Captain’s side.

She catches his alarm and signals O’Keefe to take point while she listens to her old partner.

‘That was Loretta…’

‘Your wife?

Collins nods. ‘It’s Katie...’

‘Your daughter?’

‘Yeah. Listen, Loretta didn’t take the kids to her sister’s like I told her and now Katie’s gone missing. I told Loretta to stay put until I can get home but she’s never liked taking orders. Least, not from me.’

Lena nods without smiling or offering sympathy to poor Steve who is ruffling, almost tearing at his red hair in anxiety. Instead, she’s all business.

‘Huertas, Kim,’ she calls. Her voice isn’t particularly loud; she isn’t strident or bossy like Sandra, she simply seems to be one of nature’s commanders. ‘Go with Collins. Help him find his daughter.’

To Steve she says simply, ‘Keep in touch.’

* * *

Fet’s place, Richards Street, Red Hook, Brooklyn

Sandra manages to get the computer back on just in time for a blackout in Manhattan and Brooklyn. She seems destined to miss the good bits of The Naughty Eichhorst Show.

She screams her frustration and bellows, ‘Where’s your back-up generator?’

‘My what now?’ says Fet.

Sandra snarls some rude words at Fet and Setrakian and the entire American electricity generating industry until Dutch interjects sarcastically. ‘Erm hellooo!’ She taps the laptop’s “on” light. ‘Battereeee!’

Her face falls as she realises that, in her smug eagerness to demonstrate her superior technical knowledge, she has facilitated her mother’s voyeurism.

Sandra snatches the computer back and watches avidly. She rejoins the action in Eichhorst’s living room a second before the Stoneheart back-up generator kicks into life.

* * *

Eichhorst’s living room, Stoneheart building, Manhattan 

In the blackout, the naked musician notices the lights go out through his bow tie blindfold.  Eichhorst has already made him nervous by giving him wine that tasted odd (because the vampire has spiked it with Eph’s silver solution) and this tips him over the edge. He removes his blindfold exactly as the lights come back on and exactly as Eichhorst is trying to stick his stinger out.

It’s an even more disgusting picture than usual. Because of the burning caused by Sandra’s silver tongue-stud, Eichhorst’s tongue doesn’t dehisce properly. The trumpet-player opens his eyes on the fang-stalks protruding asymmetrically and horrifically misshapen. One is even bent completely backwards and both palps writhe as if in pain. Certainly, Eichhorst is pawing at his mouth and almost squealing in distress.

The naked boy panics and fires himself backwards off the chair, screaming incoherently. Love time is clearly over and Eichhorst growls in pain and frustration.

Viewing on a laptop back at Fet’s, Sandra leaps up in triumph. ‘Hah!’ she jeers, pointing at the screen. ‘You see, Eichhorst, you still need me.’

She receives looks of revulsion from everyone else but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

In his apartment, Eichhorst leaps on his prey and tries again to extend his stinger. The split in his ravaged tongue is simply not wide enough to squeeze the stinger through and he’s now having difficulties retracting it as well.

At Fet’s, Gus laughs, ‘Look, he can’t get it up.’

Angel is still having trouble keeping pace with the conversation. ‘Hot Bitch made him impotent?’ he asks, looking Sandra up and down as if he believes she could be the cause of one bedroom issue but it definitely isn’t erectile dysfunction.

Back at Stoneheart’s, the enraged Eichhorst tears open the terrified boy’s ribcage, reaches inside and squeezes the heartblood directly into his mouth, snarling like a beast.

Sandra gives a little ‘Ooh!’ of surprise but everyone else, even Setrakian, is shocked and disgusted.

* * *

 F Train - Somewhere beneath the East River, New York

The power cut across the two boroughs has stopped the train. Back-up batteries power emergency lighting inside the car and the public announcement is advising everyone to sit tight because they anticipate the halt will be temporary. Kelly Goodweather and the vampire-child Lucille sit side by side on the F service subway train. They are the only beings in this car but there is the noise of a group of young men in the next car moving along the train towards them. Kelly and the Feeler sit rigidly upright staring blankly ahead. 

The door to the next car opens and the gang roll in - inked, pierced and dressed to announce that bad news has just turned up and that the words, “Well, lookee what we have here,”  or “Hello, my pretty,” will surely follow. 

However, _this_ leader is an innovator. 

He sits beside Kelly and coils a strand of wig around his finger, showing that his approach isn’t _that_ ground-breaking, and his friends snigger and nudge each other.

‘Are you lonely here, Duchess?’ he purrs. ‘Clad in all your finery. You got any valuables you’d like to exchange for a bit of my…undivided attention?

‘Nope, guess not, where’d you hide it in that dress?’ He extends a hand towards Kelly’s expertly made-up cleavage.

She had been ignoring him but this intrusion makes her slowly turn her head and look deep into his eyes. She blinks her nictitating membranes and he leaps back, almost falling over. 

‘What the fuck’s wrong with your eyes, lady?’ he yells. His mates haven’t seen her eyes and are still laughing and calling out profane encouragement. The beta male shoves him back into the fray telling him to hurry up because he wants his turn. The leader stumbles and falls into Kelly’s lap.

* * *

 

Platform Level York Street Station, Brooklyn

A little while later, the train pulls into York Street station and Kelly Goodweather and the Feeler disembark unscathed. There is a little patch of blood on Kelly’s cheek but she licks it off. 

Two women get into the carriage Kelly has just vacated and start screaming hysterically.

The scene is one of total carnage. There are body parts (and blood) everywhere, including a pair of testicles, connected by a sliver of hairy skin, dangling from an overhead handrail.

That ringleader must really have pissed Kelly off. 

* * *

Street Level Outside York Street Station

Lena Bartoli’s leadership has fortuitously brought The Force to this location just as Kelly Goodweather and her Feeler companion exit the subway system. The train has got the two vampires under the otherwise insurmountable obstacle of the East River and they now prepare to complete the journey to Richards Street on foot.  

The officer who’d been affronted by Ephraim Goodweather’s elevation from fugitive to Eldritch Palmer’s guest, notices the elegantly-dressed brunette. 

‘Look!’ he calls out to his partner. ‘That’s Goodweather’s squeeze. You know… from the Stoneheart party.’ 

Kelly’s _strigoi_ hearing detects her married name, making her turn to see the source. Captain Bartoli follows the officer’s pointing finger too, and she and Kelly lock eyes for a microsecond, before Kelly’s eyes flash red and she and the Feeler disappear.

Bartoli reacts instantly, ordering O’Keefe to take charge and follow her to the exterminator’s place on Richards Street, before she sprints off, pulling out her phone.

Lena Bartoli isn’t as fast as a _strigoi_ , but she is easily the fastest cop on the streets tonight and she is dialling as she goes.

* * *

 

Eichhorst’s Living Room, Stoneheart Building, Manhattan

Eichhorst drops to his knees, looking shocked. Then he falls forwards onto his hands, apparently choking.

* * *

Fet’s Place, Richards Street, Red Hook, Brooklyn

Back at Fet’s, Sandra watches Eichhorst on the laptop. He retches and heaves. She is highly satisfied with this self-induced suffering.

‘That looks painful, doesn’t it?’ She turns round to her audience for confirmation.

Gus and Angel look at each other and turn back to her with nods and shrugs.

‘Painful. Yuh.’

‘Very painful, I’d say.’

She turns back to admire her handiwork. ‘He’s not going to want to do that again in a hurry. I shall have to give him some sort of incentive.’

Setrakian and Fet are still disgusted but they are both extremely interested in this piece of the action, peering over Sandra’s shoulders either side of her.

‘He’s trying to vomit,’ exclaims Setrakian excitedly. ‘But he can’t!’

‘Ohhh,’ breathes Fet. ‘Just like little rat munchers.’

Now Eichhorst is lying on the floor, clutching his stomach and rolling around groaning.

‘He’s not going to die, is he?’ asks Sandra, sounding concerned.

Everyone looks at her in disbelief.

‘I doubt it,’ sneers Eph. ‘He’s had a miniscule dose compared to my first test subject.’ He looks at her scornfully and adds, ‘Your boyfriend’s just drama queening.’

Sandra’s head snaps round but her angry retort (and hopefully denial) is cut off by Dutch snatching the laptop out of her hands and closing it with a glare of finality.

Sandra is furious and tries again to get hold of the computer.

Then Setrakian’s trousers start to buzz.

He looks about, puzzled, before Nora nods towards his pocket and says quietly, ‘Your cell…’

* * *

Richards Street - Outside Fet’s Place, Red Hook

Kelly Goodweather and the Feeler arrive at Fet’s. She sees the whole crowd inside. Or rather, she senses their circulatory systems and smells those who are most familiar to her.

In the basement workshop/storage area she instantly recognises her husband Eph’s scent and that of his mistress... no, now she’s his ex-mistress… Nora Martinez.

There are others here who were also at the Stoneheart dance: the unadulterated alpha-bitch scent of Mr Eichhorst’s partner, the old Jew who was dancing with Nora and someone whose personal aroma is masked with heavy perfume. There are some large but subordinate males there too - Ukrainian, Mexican and African American plus a smaller vibrant male scent tainted with excrement.

But Kelly is less concerned with Eph, Nora, Sandra, Setrakian, Dutch, Fet, Angel Guzman Hurtado, Reggie Fitzwilliam and Gus, than she is with the smell of her son Zak, lying in bed two floors up.

She scrambles up the outside wall to listen to his heartbeat and take in his beloved aroma.

She breathes one word, infused with an aching desire, ‘Zak!’ and searches for a way in to her Loved One.

Even without the manpower on the inside, security is tight. There’s a single heavily-barred entrance/exit door and solid metal grids on all the windows. To cap it all, Kelly hears Setrakian get Bartoli’s warning call. 

She throws her head back and, eyes glowing red, shrieks for reinforcements before looking about her for a way in. 

As hordes of _strigoi_ appear out of every shadow, her eyes light on Gus’ Ancients-sponsored ride. 

* * *

 

Fet’s Place, Richards Street, Red Hook, Brooklyn 

Setrakian relays Captain Lena Bartoli’s message with a glint in his eye. He gets one order out – to bring Zak Goodweather downstairs and circle the wagons around him – before Sandra assumes command.

Her primary objective is to get Dutch, or “Cornelia”, as she persists in calling her, out of the action, in order to keep her kinship with Sandra a secret from the Master’s strain, but she barks other commands too, commandeering everyone but Eph, Nora and Setrakian for Dutch-protection detail and telling everyone to select their weapons of choice.

‘Professor,’ she calls across to Setrakian, ‘where’s your panic room?’

‘Don’t have one,’ Fet answers for him, apparently slightly annoyed that she assumes Setrakian has been in charge.

‘Secret escape route?’ she asks, more in hope than in expectation.

There are shrugs and shaken heads all round.

Sandra is exasperated. ‘No induction course into _strigoi_ basics, no back-up generator, no panic room, no emergency escape route!’ she rages. ‘What have you people been doing here?’

She tells Eph and Dutch to shut up when they protest and orders the Mexicans into position by the heavily fortified front door.

Angel nudges Gus and sniggers, ‘Looks like we all on Team Hot Bitch now, eh Gusto?’

‘You must have a safe,’ she tells Fet, and he does but it’s far too small to serve as Dutch’s sanctuary. 

Dutch continues to object, mostly in four letters, but is ignored. 

‘What about somewhere to lock up the poisons?’ 

‘No,’ Fet shakes his head, making Sandra tut and roll her eyes. ‘Oh, well, yeah, there’s a lockable cabinet for the cart. The cat, y’know… didn’t want him eating what he shouldn’t…’

‘I’m not getting in there!’ Dutch protests hotly, as Fet hurriedly clears the space, smelly rags and rotten poison cartons flying past his ears.

A brief argument with her mother ensues, which ends when Sandra knocks her out with halothane, pours a little over her to further disguise her Edwards scent and, with Fet’s muscular help, locks her inside.

Nora clocks this and yells, ‘No, that’s irritant! Especially to her eyes! Get her out and wash it o…’ 

Unfortunately, at this point, the wall opposite the sole entrance door explodes into rubble and noise, and Gus’ Hummer, with Kelly Goodweather at the wheel, bursts through.

Because the building is built on a slope, the vehicle actually ends up in the living space, or rather, because of momentum, through the living space without touching the floor, down the stairs with a screech of metal on metal and into the basement to the surprise of all. Including Kelly.

 

* * *

 

 

 


End file.
